


The Age of Capes and Costumes

by AndreaLyn



Series: Star Trek Mutants [2]
Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Everyone's a superhero, M/M, Mutants
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-25
Updated: 2013-09-25
Packaged: 2017-12-27 15:33:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/980618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AndreaLyn/pseuds/AndreaLyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is how it starts: Sulu gets a cape and Jim gets jealous.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Age of Capes and Costumes

It starts because Jim and Sulu can’t go a week without talking about old media from three centuries ago. It starts because Sulu decides that aerodynamics will never be quite as amazing as they would be if there’s a billowing piece of clothing involved. It starts because Jim goes to the store and finds red fabric and takes it to Chekov, who sews it according to Sulu’s measurements. And really, it starts because Jim gets a little bit jealous.   
  
Every news report that plays across the television screen lately involves Sulu up in the clouds and he’s more visible than ever because he’s donned a gold costume of spandex supported with thick material to suppress weaponry, his red cape fluttering about like a patriotic flag.  
  
 _“Well, I’ll say this, if this is the dawn of the new superhero age…”  
  
“And you do say that…”  
  
“Well--” the newscaster laughs warmly, “-wouldn’t you? Our masked flying man just might be my new favorite.”   
  
“Would that be his daring athleticism or the fact that his costume leaves very little to the imagination, Donna?”  
  
“Well, Rich, I think maybe it might be a little of both. Now let’s let the viewers decide. Does the introduction of a costume add or detract from the Flying Man’s appeal?”_  
  
“Turn that trash off,” McCoy mutters as he wanders down the stairs with a basket’s worth of laundry in his arms, peeking over the top of Jim’s dirty shirts and Joanna’s dirty socks and McCoy’s worn trousers to give Jim a disapproving look. When Jim doesn’t make a move to turn off the morning talk show, McCoy leans over and grabs the control, clicking it off, tossing the control lightly at Jim’s chest and letting it fall there.   
  
Jim scowls. “I was watching that!”  
  
“You were sulking at the screen,” McCoy says, balancing the laundry on his hip easily. “If you want a costume so badly, tell Pike you’re going to run a design by him and get Chekov to help you with the stitching. It’s not like there’s a reason you can’t.”  
  
“Maybe because my power kind of sucks?” Jim points out. “I mean, Sulu looks incredible up there with the cape because he can  _fly_  and Gaila can change shape so she kind of would wear nothing and you, you’d just be all…” And he flexes his muscles as if to make a point. “Jo’s like, the Flash, but me? Wow,” he deadpans. “My blood clots faster than other people. Alert the presses.”  
  
“You’re fucking indestructible and you think that’s a crap power,” McCoy sums up. “I swear to god, if we could switch places, I really would. Did you hit your head and forget you can heal people?”  
  
“I speed the process up by ten percent. Nothing a dermal regenerator hasn’t learned how to do,” Jim complains.   
  
McCoy looks as if he’s about to use his power, pry the dirty socks from the laundry and pelt them at his head. And Jim  _knows_  for a fact that they actually hurt when accompanied with super-strength. In McCoy’s defense, Jim only knows this because he had gotten him so drunk that he hadn’t realized what pelting the balled-up napkins at Jim’s forehead would do. McCoy sets the laundry down and sits next to Jim on the couch.  
  
They’ve known about each other for three weeks now and Jim’s just getting used to co-existing with two mutants who are learning how to go about their usual routines and not have to pretend to be normals anymore. Jim’s spent three weeks trying to concoct a plan to ask McCoy out now that they’re not hiding from each other, but he hasn’t exactly narrowed it down just yet. He knows that McCoy’s loyalties lie on his side and they still live together in their cozy little house built for three and that’s enough for the time being.  
  
Jim is still sulking heavily, shooting a curious look at McCoy. “Would you wear spandex? Or a suit? Then you could stop wearing that stupid ski mask whenever we go out to deal with a call. Honestly, I don’t blame the store-owners for thinking you were going to rob them.” Jim’s fingers scratch the place on his bicep that the bullet had grazed.   
  
“Jim,” McCoy chides lightly. “You know I only go on those missions as a favor to you after lying so often.”  
  
“I’d feel less stupid about wearing one if you did? Besides, Pike says we need to be caught on tape for PR reasons. We need to save little old ladies from harm and kittens and this and that and blah,” Jim says, waving his hand idly.   
  
McCoy seems to think about it for a very long moment.   
  
“Is that a yes?” Jim asks eagerly.  
  
“Dad!” Joanna’s voice drifts into the living room from upstairs. “If Jim gets a costume, I want a costume!” McCoy rolls his eyes and Jim decides not to tell him that they’ve already workshopped sketches of Joanna’s costume together (it mainly involves pink, a skirt, spandex shorts under the skirt (“Chafing, Jim, ew!”) and boots with good orthotics built in (“Just because I’m super-fast doesn’t mean my arches don’t hurt”). “Please!”  
  
“We’ll discuss this later!”  
  
Jim idly rubs his fingers over McCoy’s shirt-sleeve, trying to convince him. “Bones,” Jim sighs. “Please?”  
  
Bones says yes, but it seems to come with trepidation.   
  
*  
  
Jim bites his lower lip as Gaila presents the costume on a hanger and Bones all but spits on it. It’s spandex, tight as anything, is orange, blue, purple, and has the words ‘The Destroyer’ across the back. Bones takes one long look at it and shakes his head. “No,” he says firmly, arms crossed over his chest. “You have five seconds to get it out of my face,” he warns.  
  
“Don’t say no yet,” Gaila pleads and cocks a mischievous brow at Jim. “Just…let me.” She wiggles and writhes, getting her body to go through transformation and slowly becomes _Bones_  in that horrible suit. Jim’s eyes go wide. She’s mimicked Jim on occasion and all the others on the crew. Once, she had pretended to be Uhura and Spock in turns to put on a play about their forbidden love.  
  
She’s never mimicked Bones until now.   
  
Jim doesn’t find himself as amused as he thought he’d be. He’s staring at Bones in that godawful suit, but Bones is actually right beside him. Gaila’s mimicry is perfect now. She doesn’t miss a note, so she’s got his hair down pat and the body-type and actually, Jim’s wondering if she’s embellishing the ass, so he forces Bones to turn around and stares at it until he decides she’s got that one-hundred percent accurate too.  
  
“See?” Gaila speaks, and even her voice sounds perfect. It’s Bones’ drawl, all low and coy and as sticky as honey. “What do you say, Dr. McCoy? You slip me a couple bills, I go out like this for you and fight crime at Jim’s side!”  
  
Jim opens his mouth to protest and to tell Gaila that it’s not going to happen, but just as the ‘n’ slips past his lips, Bones is already nodding his head. “What?” Jim asks, mouth feeling dry.   
  
“Jim, I don’t want to be out there in  _that_ ,” Bones says with disgust, gesturing to Gaila – who’s acting as Bones’ twin – and letting his eyes roam up and down. “Gaila can pose as me, be out there with you, and build up a rep. And in the meantime, I’m going to talk to Pike about who the  _hell_  thought that outfit was a good idea.”  
  
“I’m sure it was a blind person,” Gaila says sympathetically, shifting back into her own form. She tosses the outfit over her shoulder and winks at Jim before pressing a kiss to Bones’ cheek and leaving them be.  
  
Jim doesn’t like this at all. He can’t put his finger on it, but he doesn’t want to be out there with some look-alike at his side. There’s also a part of him that really doesn’t like the idea of Bones’ body on display for people to ogle, even if it’s not  _technically_  him.   
  
Bones seems ready to drop the issue because he’s leaving the room for the kitchen. “You want a beer?”  
  
“No. Yes. I mean, yes, but can we talk about what just happened?” Jim demands, feeling lost at sea without so much as a life-raft to keep him from drowning. He wanders after Bones like a duckling in its mothers’ wake and accepts the beer from his hands, wondering what it means that Bones is agreeing to this so readily. He’s going to be out there with Bones, but he’s not. If someone takes a run at Bones, Gaila won’t  _actually_  have the super-strength expected of him. “Why’d you say yes?”  
  
“Because it’s important to you, Jim. Gaila’s willing and I’m not, so this works,” Bones says, swallowing a gulp’s worth of beer. “Come on. You said you wanted this and I want to make you happy. Give me a chance, will you?”  
  
Jim watches Bones drifting around the kitchen, not sure how to say that he does want to be happy. He just also wants it to be Bones himself that makes him happy and not a mutant with chameleonic tendencies. Besides that fact, he’s fairly sure that the last thing in the world he wants is for Bones to be out there (in a fake facsimile, sure, but Bones) getting ogled by the public.  
  
Still, it seems like he’s lost this argument when Bones wanders into the den and clicks on the television to flick through news reports. It’s important to Jim and that’s that. Jim just wishes that he had more of a say so he could tell Bones it’s not the fighting crime part and it’s nothing to do with the costumes. It’s all got to do with  _Bones_.  
  
 _“This footage has been brought to us by a citizen in San Francisco. Sheila Kline said she was out at the supermarket when she came into contact with a group of three mutant brigands. They were disarmed by a passerby who calls himself The Captain and wished for his true persona not to be disclosed.  
  
Bystanders say that no shots were fired and the man did nothing more than ask the mutants to put down their weapons. There were no injuries.”_  
  
Jim starts to see a hiccup in the agreement that Gaila’s made with Bones on the second ‘mission’ they get assigned to by Pike. It’s a breezy thing that involves sneaking into a laboratory and getting out some potentially dangerous vials that the anti-mutant groups have been formulating in order to fully paralyze their kind. It might have been dangerous if not for the fact that all they had left to guard the place were a couple kids.  
  
They even manage to rescue prisoners, which brings on the news crews.   
  
So there they are, standing proud and tall at their accomplishment and Gaila’s fitting Bones’ body like a t-shirt fit perfectly to her measurements. Jim’s doing all the talking because he’s good at spinning the talking points that Pike hands out every week. It’s all about justice and respect and dignity this week. He’s smiling charmingly at the camera when he notices Gaila in the corner of his eye.  
  
She’s letting an array of men and women touch her. Touch the chest and rub their hands over Bones’ back. Jim’s words tense and his words falter while he’s telling Roving Reporter Anna McMillan that not all mutants want to destroy the world and that festering hate hurts them more than any ability can.  
  
“Sir?” Anna prods. He hasn’t thought up a clever name yet, so he’s been going anonymous. “You were saying?”  
  
Jim falters again, gaze stuttering away from Gaila and the way that people are kissing her on the cheek (leaving lipstick marks on Bones’ skin) and hugging tight. He swallows down the lump in his throat that says that no one but  _him_  should get to touch Bones like that.   
  
“We’ll send a statement to your offices,” Jim changes course, knowing Pike is going to kick his ass for this, but it doesn’t matter. He corrals Gaila with a hard yank on her bicep. “Time to go!” It’s rushed and it’s rude, but Jim’s past caring. He waits until they’re in the privacy of one of their safehouses before he rips off the mask and glowers hard enough that Gaila shifts back to herself (and she focuses, because she’s made sure that she’s clothed when she does it).   
  
She’s corralling her wild red hair as she takes off the mask. “Well,” she chirps. “I think that went well.”  
  
“This agreement is over,” Jim informs her curtly, eyes bulging wide as he tries to corral his hysteria that’s been coming ever since the first thin-fingered hand stroked fake-Bones’ chest.   
  
Gaila looks more confused than even Jim is and Jim’s not sure where he’s going with this. He has the feeling that he ought to, but he also knows that he doesn’t like her masquerading as Bones and just throwing his personality out the window. He doesn’t like that costume, that  _horrible_  costume. He doesn’t like the fact that when they’re alone, it’s not Bones.  
  
And he doesn’t like knowing that if someone comes at them, Gaila won’t be able to defend them like Bones could.   
  
 _\--or maybe it’s just that he doesn’t like the fact that she lets them touch him--_  
  
“Just…it’s over,” Jim says curtly and dismisses her with nothing more than a turn of his back to Gaila. He doesn’t want to talk about it because he doesn’t think he can articulate it exactly. He doesn’t know if she’s going to try and stick around to talk sense into him, but he crosses his arms across his chest and stares at the wall.  
  
He starts to count to ten, hoping that Gaila’s not about to turn a pout on him because she knows just how easily that weakens him.   
  
 _…five_  
  
“You’re being stupid, Jim,” Gaila says matter-of-factly.  
  
 _…seven_  
  
“But I guess I have better things to do than stand here and stare at you making a fool of yourself.”  
  
 _…nine_.  
  
“Tell McCoy he doesn’t need to pay me for today.”  
  
And then she’s gone and Jim’s won the argument. Or maybe he has. Jim’s not exactly sure there are any winners out of this, but he knows that Gaila’s not going to be wearing that perfectly-fitting skin of Bones around the city anytime soon. Somehow, somewhere, that’s got to count as a win, Jim figures.  
  
*  
  
 _“…and if you’re a mutant and looking for a good time, Ren’s Pub and Grill on Beach prides itself on a mutant-friendly environment and more than adequate security to assure its patrons the most enjoyable of evenings. Now, let’s look at weather with Paul, shall we?”_  
  
“He’s being horrible,” Gaila complains petulantly, tossing her uneaten cherry into an empty martini glass. It’s her fourth. Chekov is on his fourth vodka-water and Sulu has been draining beers with admirable ease. They’ve all got a fairly high tolerance for alcohol and Pike has been running tests with the science department to see if there’s any correlation between their abilities and their tolerance for drug-and-alcohol substances. “Why can’t he just let me have my fun?”  
  
“Do we really need to ask?” Sulu comments and signals the bartender for another round. “Come on, Gaila, it was your turn to ask. Truth.”  
  
“How many positions do we think Kirk wants to do McCoy in?”  
  
“Ten.”  
  
“Sixty-nine.”  
  
“Sewenteen!”  
  
No one does a shot of any alcohol because the question had been answered easily enough. Their little game of truth or dare is just enough to pass the time before Gaila has an appointment with a man of the hour and Chekov and Sulu take their leave because one of them has an exam on quantum physics in the morning and the other just likes to wake up at five in the AM and tend to certain plants.  
  
They share a good laugh before delving into far more graphic descriptions of positions (which involves Chekov trying to make shadow puppets, Sulu’s sketches on a napkin, and Gaila’s lurid description as she licks her lips and makes five men around her cross their legs when the burst of pheromones becomes just  _too_  much).   
  
Gaila licks at the cherry stem in her drink, sucking on the fruit of it before she starts to twist and twine the stem into a knot.   
  
“Chekov, your turn.”  
  
“Dare!” he announces proudly, “And to answer you Gaila, of course I will.”  
  
She opens her mouth to remind him that she hasn’t actually said anything yet and he’s supposed to be careful about using that particular ability in public, but she stops when she figures he has to be pretty brave to admit he was diving into her thoughts when she had stumbled on that particular dare. She shrugs and gestures to the dance floor.  
  
Chekov is sliding off his stool, grasping Sulu’s hand and tugging politely on it.   
  
“What?” Sulu asks warily.  
  
“My dare.”  
  
“Don’t I get to at least  _hear_  it?”  
  
Chekov smiles sweetly and presses the full splayed palm of his hand lightly against Sulu’s temple, closing his eyes and really focusing. Gaila watches, her attention rapt, loving to watch the powers of her comrades when they’re stretching past the bounds of how they first knew them. She wiggles her fingers and waves them goodbye as they find their way to the middle of the dance floor and she watches with interest as Chekov’s lean fingers nudge their way into the waistband of Hikaru’s denims.  
  
“Is this your doing?” a voice comes from behind her.  
  
Gaila sits up primly and smiles sweetly and innocently. “Captain Pike, sir. Only mildly. We’re playing a time-honored Earth tradition that helps us to bond as companions, compatriots, and friends.” She makes sure she looks very serious, even if her eyes are bugged out just slightly too much to be fully innocent. “And through the crucible of each test, we emerge on the other side tighter-knit.”  
  
Pike signals the bartender for a beer and slides into Sulu’s unoccupied seat. “Truth or dare?”  
  
“More or less. Why?” Gaila asks sweetly. “Did you want to participate?”  
  
“Participate in what!” comes the bounding energy in the form of Jim Kirk. He’s grinning as he shakes the raindrops from his overcoat and hangs it on the back of the stool, leaning in to kiss Gaila on the cheek and flash Pike a daring smile. “What’d I miss?” he asks, gaze slowly sliding to the dance floor where Chekov’s full hand is down Sulu’s pants and Sulu is doing his best not to start hovering on the dance floor. “…is that legal?” he asks, mouth open.  
  
Pike sighs and accepts his beer from the bar. “Why do I have the feeling I’m going to be persuading some cops to let us all go tonight?”  
  
“But it’s what you do best. Jim. Truth or dare.”  
  
“Truth.”  
  
“Just when are you actually going to attempt to get in Doctor McCoy’s pants?”  
  
“Fine, dare,” Jim instantly switches. Gaila tips her head to the side as if to ask him if he really thinks that’s going to do any good. Even Captain Pike looks like he’s feeling sorry for Jim’s lack of forward-thinking in this particular situation. Jim gives a quiet whine and slumps back in his chair. “Okay, fine. I want him bad. Not like anyone’s surprised. I’ve wanted him for months.”  
  
“Your dare is to actually touch him. Just touch him,” Gaila says, leaning back and giving the waiter a good view down her shirt as she orders another martini. Even Jim looks and Gaila finds that pleasing because she likes to know that she still has some effect on him. “Captain, Hikaru is taking off.”  
  
Pike sighs and pushes himself out of his chair. “I’ll be right back to dissuade the boys from losing it in public.” He strides out onto the dance floor, which leaves Gaila and Jim with each other in a suddenly frosty silence.  
  
Gaila doesn’t think she’s at fault whatsoever. In fact, if anything, it’s Jim and his silly sense of chivalry that’s in the wrong. She’d just been having a good time and making it so that Doctor McCoy didn’t need to embarrass himself in public. They were all happy until suddenly Jim wasn’t. Now he’s going to sulk and she’s going to have to endure it because she thinks that they all ought to just get along and people should be allowed to love and touch whomever they want.  
  
“Jimmy,” Gaila sighs. “How long are you going to stay mad at me?”  
  
“For as long as I want,” Jim grumpily mutters under his breath. “You let people touch him. You know how I feel about him and you let them touch him.”  
  
“I let them touch me.”  
  
“You were wearing his skin,” Jim argues hot-headedly. Gaila ought to know better than to prod and provoke Jim when he’s on edge. After all, he’s one of the most stubborn men that Gaila’s ever come across and it’s mostly due to his no-lose mindset. There’s no such thing as a no-win he always says, to which Pike grimaces and Chekov makes wary sounds like he’s picking up on something in Jim’s mind that’s less than savory.   
  
Gaila sighs and looks to the dance floor. Captain Pike is talking to several other dancers and Sulu and Chekov have the good grace to look slightly shamed. Gaila doesn’t know how that happened or what the solution is, but she knows she’s too tired to be in a fight with Jim for weeks on end.  
  
“I’ll buy you a drink and let you feel the girls?”  
  
“That would be nice,” Jim admits with a small shrug and offers her a ray of hope in the form of a small smile.   
  
*  
  
“Fine,” Bones had said the other day while Jim had been complaining about yet another news-report (this time about Chekov and Gaila in their brand new synthesized spandex-and-leather costumes as they managed to stop a jewel heist). “I’ll talk to Pike.” Jim hadn’t expected him to do anything but turn the television off and thwap him over the head with a napkin – in Jim’s defense, when Bones uses his strength, it  _actually hurts_.   
  
Jim still doesn’t really think much about it. Bones will probably talk to Pike and they’ll decide that Jim should stay out of the public eye because he’d caused so much trouble the last time with his fit on the evening news. It’s a pretty nice idea to think that Bones is willing to go to bat for him on an issue like this and maybe that’s the lesson here. Maybe that’s good enough.  
  
He’s sorting through their mail as he wanders in the door. “Bones, Jo’s out with Spock,” he calls upstairs. “Said something about honing her abilities? Something logical, I don’t know,” he mutters, flicking a couple blank envelopes back and forth. He doesn’t ever like stray pieces of anonymous mail, even if most of them are just campaigns against the mutant rising or calls for research help in testing the mutant gene.  
  
He drops them all on the kitchen counter and hops on the stool, reaching over to grab an apple and wait for Bones to reprimand him because there’s probably dinner in the oven or something else that he’s ruining his appetite for.  
  
“Jim, where are you?” comes the query from upstairs.  
  
“Kitchen!” Jim calls up, swallowing the apple piece he’d chomped on.   
  
He hears footsteps descending the stairs and turns to start in on a tirade about how Uhura had accidentally lost control of her emotions on campus and shattered three windows, but the words fall away when Jim sees exactly what Bones and Pike have been discussing on the phone for the last few evenings. The apple nearly falls out of Jim’s hands and he clutches it harder than before to avoid that happening.   
  
“Holy shit,” Jim exhales, his whole body gravitating forward out of his chair as if he can’t bear to stay away from Bones.   
  
He stumbles onto his feet and drifts closer as if Bones is hiding magnets and Jim’s wearing nothing but shackles of iron. He’s wearing a simple black mask around his eyes, hair spiked upwards. His trenchcoat is woolen and black, collar propped up and if there’s a breeze, it’ll billow beautifully in the light of the moon. There’s nothing more than a t-shirt made of a synthesized material (that’s fairly good at rejecting bullets according to the latest science reports from Pike) and a pair of torn jeans. He’s got black fingerless gloves on and heavy black combat boots. It’s nothing like the first costume and Jim is thanking  _god_  for that.  
  
“Holy shit,” is all he can say again.  
  
There’s another sound stuck in the back of his throat that’s doing its damnedest to make its escape, but Jim thinks that it needs to wait its turn while he lets his hands explore Bones’ chest the way he doesn’t want anyone else to. He pushes it inside the sleeve of the coat and feels the curve and the perfect fit of a bicep. He leans in and takes a deep breath of the way the clothes smell – old, as if they’ve belonged to four someone-else’s over the course of a century. Jim lets out a shaky exhalation and pulls his hands back before Bones can make a comment about him being caught in the depths of the cookie jar.  
  
He knows that Bones is looking at him curiously, but Jim’s not sure how he’s supposed to put any of this into words.  
  
“What really happened with Gaila?” Bones asks, his voice as low as will allow.  
  
Jim shakes his head rapidly, not sure exactly how he’s supposed to phrase this when all his brain is obliging him with is the exact number of seconds it would take Jim to heal if he demanded Bones shove him hard against the wall and fuck him until he bleeds. “With Gaila? What?” he snaps back to reality. “Nothing. Nothing happened. We went out, we did some good, the media interviewed us.”  
  
“And you threw a fit that wound up all over the comm systems,” Bones points out evenly.  
  
“What, like you’re perfect? With your perfect chest and everything?” Jim scoffs, gesturing to said chest and knowing that he’s in the middle of a losing argument. As far as they’re both concerned, Jim wants nothing more than to strip off the mask, give Bones a mark on his neck and spray-paint ‘hands off’ all over his back.   
  
He has the feeling Pike won’t like that.   
  
“Jim,” Bones reprimands quietly.  
  
“She let people touch your body. And it wasn’t you. Call me crazy,” Jim says, words strained and tight, like they’re wound up and about to explode, “But I don’t like the idea that she was doing something without your express permission and letting people think they’re getting somewhere with your body when it’s not really yours. She was pushing buttons when it comes to the issue.”  
  
“She was pushing  _your_  buttons.”  
  
Jim hates many things in life. He hates the ship that took his father from him, he hates his stepfather’s sternness that ruled his childhood, he hates his allergies, he hates spinach, and he hates Bones’ psych degree.   
  
Jim knows that he’s trapped in the corner and that there is literally zero cause in denying what Bones already knows. His mind is already probably ticking a mile a minute and figuring out all the nooks and crannies of this particular problem. Jim’s hand is still pressed firmly over Bones’ chest and his fingers brush in soft strokes as he feels the rhythm of Bones’ heartbeat and how steady and constant it is.   
  
“Jim, do you wanna tell me what’s going on?”  
  
Jim draws his hands back and taps them lightly against his own heart in time with its beat. It goes  _thrum-thrum_  and blood pulses through his body and brings with it anxiety and fear and exhilaration in one heady beat of his heart. He taps his fingers against his heart as he meets Bones’ eyes through the mask and he can’t do that. He reaches forward and pries off that black cloth that illuminates Bones’ eyes and makes them sparkle and turn green and brown in the light.   
  
“I went over a cliff and I came out unscathed,” Jim says, blinking in confusion, as if he doesn’t know why he’s bothering to tell Bones this. Bones knows. He knows all about this. “I haven’t had a scar ever since that day. I haven’t had to deal with the itch of a scab and the way when you look at it, you get reminded of the wound to begin with. So I haven’t been hurt and there’s no itch, except there is.” Jim taps two fingers against his heart and reaches across the space between them, not hesitating for a minute before he taps those same fingers to Bones’ heart. “You’re the scar. You’re the scab. You keep irritating my skin and every time I think I’ll let it heal, it just goes deeper than before and it infects and stays. I can’t be in love with you anymore, not without you knowing it. You can put a bandaid on it or you can keep pushing deeper, but I can’t ignore it. I can heal anything, except you.”  
  
“Jim,” Bones sighs.  
  
“What?”  
  
“Comparing me to a goddamn infection is the least romantic thing I have ever heard in my  _entire_  life,” Bones snaps and Jim can’t help it. He laughs as bright and as warm as the sun dawning on a new day. He laughs until his chest feels hoarse and then he coughs until the joy dissipates. “What’re you saying, Jim? In English?”  
  
“I don’t want anyone else touching your body, whether Gaila’s wearing it or you are,” Jim says in plain and simple speech, still smiling as the remnants of laughter cling to his words. “Except me. Being in love with you hurts, Bones. It hurts when you don’t even know about it.”  
  
And then Bones looks at Jim as if he’s a child who’s been wearing blinders his whole life.   
  
“I know about it now, don’t I?” he points out softly.  
  
“Yeah. So, are you planning to twist the knife?”  
  
Bones is shedding that long coat on the closest chair and stepping forward to pick up Jim with the strength of only one hand braced under his ass, depositing Jim atop the counter in the kitchen. The apple is long-lost to the floor and Jim’s in the mood to make sure his shirt goes the way of the fruit, stripping it off in time with Bones getting his own t-shirt off. Jim wraps his legs around Bones’ waist and coaxes him closer by cupping his cheek and tipping his head to one side to press a long kiss to Bones’ lips while Bones divests them of the remainder of their clothes.   
  
“Don’t be gentle,” Jim murmurs against Bones’ lips.  
  
Bones just pushes Jim’s legs apart and scrambles slightly before coming up with the small tub of cooking grease they keep for when Jim gets it in his head to make cookies or Bones decides to grease up some of the pie before they go in the oven. Jim takes one look at it and barks out a laugh. He knocks it out of Bones’ hand, grabs Bones’ palm and spits as hard as he can.   
  
“I can heal, you overprotective jackass.”  
  
“I could break you in half, you infant,” Bones retorts sharply.   
  
Jim just smirks at him and leans forward, tongue darting out to wet his lower lip as a gleam of manic desire flashes in his eyes. “Dare you to.”  
  
Apparently that triggers something in Bones that makes him growl and gets him to put aside all concerns about gentle. Bones’ fingers dig deep into Jim’s thigh and Jim lets out a sudden cry of glee. The fingers have more than average strength behind them and Jim looks down just in time to see his skin bruising purple and blue before fading back to normal, the pain easing away after being there for no more than a heartbeat.   
  
“Oh god,” Jim cries out, head thrown back, Adam’s apple strained as he swallows hard. “Bones, harder.”  
  
“You’re a sick man, Jim,” Bones growls, stroking Jim with his spit-covered hand and pushing his fingers slowly inside of Jim, sliding in and out with practiced efficiency (though Jim doesn’t want to sit there thinking of how many patients Bones has been pushing his fingers into to do a quick spot-check). “If I see blood, I’m pulling out.”  
  
“I’ll heal,” Jim insists, almost desperately, grabbing Bones hard by the hair and yanking him close and tight for a kiss, dragging his teeth hard against Bones’ lower lip before letting his mouth drift to Bones’ neck, studiously and intently giving him a purple mark that’s punctuated by a nip and a  _smack_  of a kiss.  
  
He leans forward and bites down on Bones’ lower lip, resting perilously distractingly between his lips. It’s as much of a mark as the hickey on Bones’ neck and the bruising touches on his forearm.   
  
Jim dares Bones with a look in his eyes and bucks forward as Bones shoves two fingers inside. The counter creaks and rocks under his weight and Jim gets out a pleasured grunt when Bones pushes once more with his spit covered fingers. Jim’s grin is lethal and he’s about to laugh giddily at the fact that he’s getting what he wants.  
  
“Don’t need a mind-reader to see you’re liking this,” Bones drawls, his accent thick and heavy.  
  
Jim just laughs hoarsely. “Oh, I could think of a few reasons for Chekov to be here.”  
  
“Pervert,” Bones breathes out against Jim’s neck, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to his pulse. He brushes his lips in an upward pattern as he pulls his fingers from Jim and the cold air rushes forward, replaced almost immediately by Bones’ dick. “C’mon, Jim, open up,” Bones mumbles against his neck.   
  
Jim has to focus on not immediately healing. He closes his eyes and focuses on letting Bones in before he can start to heal. No matter how much it’s going to hurt, Jim is always going to let Bones in. He can heal. He’s a grown man, he can get over any temporary pains. He can also exalt in them if they bring Bones thrusting into his body like he is.   
  
Jim seethes out a giddy breath as his head tips back to the ceiling and it  _hurts_ , but that alone feels so good. He hasn’t hurt like this in ages, he hasn’t let himself stay uninjured and he definitely hasn’t given himself over to someone that he trusts. Bones can hurt him in every good way that’s possible and Jim can’t help but love that fact.  
  
He’s grinning against Bones’ bare shoulder, pushing forward for every hard thrust and ignoring the knowledge that blood will trickle out of him soon enough. It’ll take two seconds of hard focus to knit it all back up and for the pain to go away.   
  
Jim presses his tongue hard against the corner of his lips and opens his eyes to watch Bones. He watches the abject concentration that’s set on his face. He watches his hair fall over his forehead. He even thinks he sees a glimpse of black eyeliner lurking around his eyelids and he has to ask Gaila about that later. It’s not that it looks bad, it’s just that Jim doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to stand at Bones’ side in that costume and remain anything but half-mast.  
  
Bones rocks into him and together they slam the table against the wall, eliciting another creak.   
  
“Fuck!” Jim yelps.  
  
“Yes, Jim,” Bones groans, one hand gripping on the table and the other on Jim’s hip as he pushes his way deep as he can just the once before easing out. He knows exactly what he’s aiming for because they’ve had countless medical exams together. Bones knows where the prostate is, knows what he’s aiming for.   
  
Jim just doesn’t expect the white-out of the world when he finds it. Bones keeps pushing and driving and Jim’s about to protest when he comes right in the middle of an attempt to form his words from out of the crater that was once his dignity and his self-composure. Jim lets out a ragged groan as he bonelessly slides down the counter and Bones has to catch him before he collapses into a puddle of disjointed limbs on the ground.   
  
Jim forces his hands on Bones’ shoulders hard, to give him a sign.   
  
He keeps lowering himself until he’s on his knees before Bones, lips already jutted apart and swollen pink from being kissed. Bones is as hard as Jim had been until just moments ago, making Jim want to do something about it. He strokes with his palm, rough and slowly, taking care to keep his half-lidded eyes on Bones.  
  
“See?” Jim murmurs, voice lazy and low. “I’m fine.”  
  
“Better than,” Bones gives his opinion and Jim agrees thoroughly with that. Jim leans forward and starts to lap at the head of Bones’ cock without a moment’s pause. His heavy-lidded eyes gaze up every once in a while and gaze black eyeliner and the imprint of a mask before descending to see the mark of Jim’s fingers on Bones’ skin.  
  
They’ve marked each other with shadows and promises and bruising kisses. It may seem a possessive thing to do, but Jim likes the fact that Bones is going to go the next few days with red reminders of what they’ve done.   
  
 _Come. Come on. Come for me, Bones, come_ , Jim thinks in a constant litany. He knows that he possesses no psychic abilities the likes of Chekov, but some part of him (some hopeful, distant part) likes to believe that his thoughts and his desperate willing desires have some kind of imprint on Bones.  
  
His tongue curves and curls before applying pressure. He closes his eyes and the bitter-sweet and salty taste overcomes him just before the rush comes and then he’s gagging and swallowing in turn.   
  
They’re both messes. Jim would throw his hat into the ring and say he’s worse off, but it’s not like Bones is the picture of clean and sanitary health. Jim barely has time to scramble to the side before Bones is falling to one knee, then the other, collapsing in a heap that’s as limbless as Jim, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to Jim’s shoulder.  
  
Jim’s tired, but with Bones’ warmth right beside him, he can’t exactly care how sore he’ll be in certain places if he doesn’t focus on healing up the muscles.   
  
“You probably can’t wear that uniform in public,” Jim admits in a horse voice when he thinks to speak again.  
  
Jim’s eyes are closed, but he smiles lazily at the kisses Bones is pressing across the span of his back. “Yeah,” Bones exhales and pushes Jim down to the linoleum floor, wrapping his arms around his waist. “Except sometimes you get exactly what you want, Jim. And you get this. You can live with it and ask Pike to get you a cup or something like.”  
  
Jim can definitely live with that.   
  
“So, does this mean we’ve got all the secrets out in the open?” Bones asks, sounding weary down to his toes.  
  
Jim smirks lazily. “About that…I did tell you I’m secretly a werewolf during the full moon, right?”  
  
“Shut up, you smartass, and get to healing us. Jo’s going to be home soon.”  
  
There goes doing it the old-fashioned way. Jim really would protest except that the best way to accelerating healing is to lay hands on the person in question and with Bones wrapping his arms around him and staying close, Jim can’t really find a good reason to deny wanting to stay just that bit closer.  
  
THE END


End file.
